


the world turned upside down

by lethargicProfessor



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5361302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/pseuds/lethargicProfessor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dreamers-wonderland asked:  40s dgm war au do it yes please</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world turned upside down

“There’s a war going on,” the general says, somber, out of place in the raucous cheeriness of the pub. Music and smoke mingle in the air, shouts and cheers of drunken revelers drifting to their ears. Exultation and a sense of dread clashing above their heads, juxtaposition in war.

“No shit,” Kanda replies, because someone has to. The redhead serviceman whose name Kanda already forgot snorts into his whiskey, shoulders relaxing infinitesimally.

The kid beside him – and really, he couldn’t be more than fifteen – squirms in his seat, shooting nervous looks at the general. He opens his mouth to speak but thinks better of it, shutting it with a resolute snap.

The general ignores them, lighting another cigarette; to anyone in the pub, he’d seem bored, leaning back in his seat, too world-weary to give a damn. But Kanda can see the sharp glint in his eyes, the way he stiffens every time the door opens.

He acts like a soldier waiting for the inevitable ambush. That alone is enough to set Kanda on edge, teeth grinding as he grips his sweaty drink, downing it roughly. The cheap alcohol burns in his throat, but the burn helps ease the tension.

The general continues to stare at the door, ignoring the pointed looks the kid and the serviceman exchange, cigarette burning to ashes as he waits. What he’s waiting for, though, Kanda can’t even begin to imagine.

“There’s a war going on,” he repeats at length, tapping the ash of his cigarette into his pint, turning to look at the three gathered around him. “And it’s not what you think it is.”

“General Marian, I don’t—“ the boy finally speaks, a little too loud, too shrill, so eager to get his word in that he leans in across the table, chair scraping against the wooden floors.

The sound is loud, deafening in the near silence of the pub.

Kanda isn’t sure when it got so quiet, isn’t sure how he didn’t notice, but every fiber of his being is pulled taut like a bowstring, itching to run, run from the danger around them. He can’t see it, but he can feel it, squeezing the air from his lungs like a vise, forcing it to hang in the silence, thick and festering, a sick sort of anticipation, like waiting for a bomb to strike or a bullet to reach its target.

The kid is frozen, half sprawled across the table, brows furrowed as he glances at the patrons who, until very recently, were dancing the night away. All of them are watching them now, faces blank, a wall of paper people eerily standing to attention.

The general stands, the screech of his chair jarring, enough to make the serviceman flinch at the sound, but even that doesn’t make the people move. Kanda wants to move too, to reach for a weapon, anything to defend himself, because he’s been a soldier long enough to realize when they’re facing an enemy, regardless of the fact that he’s supposed to be in allied soil, in a pub in the heart of London. Danger is danger, and he hasn’t lived through so many battles to die on the floor of a dusty bar halfway across the world.

He wants to move, but he can’t. He vaguely suspects the others feel the same way, but they were all woefully unprepared for an ambush. He can’t even recall if firearms are allowed while off-duty, but regardless, they’re facing a roomful of hostiles with no way to defend themselves.

All except the general, apparently. With an ease that betrays his earlier tension, he draws a pistol from his greatcoat, a long, silver piece that is definitely not standard issue, and fires into the crowd.

The sound of the gunshots seems to jar them into action, the kid launching himself at Marian to latch onto his arm, the serviceman jumping to his feet, both angrily rounding on the general.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” The serviceman is shaking, though from anger or horror, Kanda can’t say. “They’re _fucking civilians_ , what’s _wrong_ with you?”

The kid is trying to pry the gun out of the general’s grip, but the man merely shoves him off, seemingly unimpressed with their reaction. “Turn around.”

“Are you _mental_?” The kid screeches, scrambling to his feet, arm cocked back as if he could actually do some damage to the general, but quicker than lightning the man grips his chin, forcibly wrenching the kid’s face towards the crowd.

Kanda turns to look too, too stunned to really process the situation. He expects carnage, blood and viscera and whatnot, the bread and butter of war, just painted across the old-timey pub.

He doesn’t expect to see a room full of monsters.

The things in the room are like nothing he’s ever seen, on or off the battlefield; parodies of human bodies, honest to god gun barrels protruding from their arms, from their faces, from their chests, all a sickly uniform gray. He can see the bodies the general shot lying on the ground, but there’s no blood. Just a smoking, smoldering mess of metal and cloth. Beyond them lay large spheres, all the same gray color, all sporting killer canons that could probably penetrate through the thickest of tanks.

“What the fuck…” He isn’t sure who says that, but Kanda’s sure they are all thinking the same thing.

The kid turns to the general, looking a little green around the gills, waiting for an explanation that Kanda’s sure won’t come in a timely manner. The serviceman glances over to him, red hair making him look paler than usual, and offers a weak shrug.

“You should get back now,” the general says nonchalantly, flipping their table onto its side. “Before they start shooting back.”

They barely manage to dive behind the table as the first barrage hits, huge artillery rounds nearly taking out Kanda’s eye. They back up against the wall, wincing every time one of the bullet points cracks through the heavy wooden table, huddling up against each other to make a smaller target. Kanda can’t even bring himself to complain as the kid’s nails dig into his forearm, or when the redhead’s elbow meets his ribs. It’s all acceptable in the battlefield.

“This whole thing is fubar,” Kanda wheezes under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut against a wave of splinters. The redhead laughs, shrill with terror, and swears as a bullet breaks through, embedding itself deeply into the wall above his head.

The only one who seems to be doing okay is the general; he somehow managed to tip over another table for himself, and he seems bored as he checks over his gun. “Why don’t you three fill out a T.S. slip and give it to the chaplain next time?”

The shooting stops after what feels like an eternity, the familiar clicking of empty chambers music to their ears as they slowly untangle from each other’s grips. The general takes advantage of the lull, picking off monsters off like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Like I was saying earlier,” he says, shots ringing faster than Kanda can count them. “We’re not just fighting Fritz on the front lines. That’s where you three come in.”

“What are you talking about, Cross?” The kid demands, peeking up over their makeshift barricade only to promptly empty his guts. The serviceman rubs his back sympathetically, waiting for the general to answer.

Kanda stands, squinting through the gathering smoke to keep an eye on the enemy. For all their firepower, they’re terrible shots, large craters peppering the walls from the projectiles, shards of shattered glass scattered across the floor.

“What are those things?” He asks, sparing the general a look. He sighs heavily, like it’s all duck soup to him and they’re all just a bunch of idiots. The crowd is thinning under his attack, though, so it’s not like Kanda can complain much. The man, like it or not, saved their lives.

“Do you speak Japanese?”

The question alone throws Kanda for a loop, and he gapes at the general for a beat. “What? No. A couple of words, I guess.” He crosses his arms defensively, hackles metaphorically raised. “I’m from ‘Frisco.”

“That’s not what I asked.” The general waves his statement away, switching hands to continue firing into the monsters. Their numbers work against them, as the larger members are too bulky to allow the smaller ones to get a clear shot, allowing for the general to mow them down. “Do you know what ‘akuma’ means?”

The kid moves to stand closer to the general, a thin sheen of sweat shining in the dim lights filtering in from the window. “What does it mean, Cross?”

Hazy, half-forgotten memories of summers spent with the Changs, of nights spent listening to old man Zhu’s stories surface, punching Kanda in the gut.

“They’re just stories. It’s not real.” Kanda spits automatically, gaze drifting back to the…things. There’s only a few left now, too large to squeeze through the door, too dumb to make themselves smaller. Cross picks them off easily enough, taking in the damage done to the pub by the monsters. Demons, if he was to be believed.

“They’re not real.” Kanda insists, shaking his head as if that would make his statement any more true. “They can’t be real.”

Cross motions to the smoking heaps with his gun, raising an eyebrow. “Does that look real to you?”

“Not particularly,” the redhead mutters under his breath, slapping his cheeks. “Maybe we’re just having a conniption. All of us. At the same time.”

“What are they, though?” The kid insists, almost whining as the smoke begins to clear. The general slips another cigarette from his pack, placing it carefully between his lips as he marches to the door.

Kanda glances at the redhead, stumbling over broken furniture as he hurries after them. The demons – the akuma – may be dead, but the air they leave behind is putrid. He can feel the atmosphere clinging to his skin, and he wants nothing more than to take a shower to scrub it away.

The general waits outside the ruined pub, pocketing his gun, shaking his head regretfully. “The only good thing about a war is that collateral damage is expected.”

“Are you going to tell us what the hell is going on?” The redhead grouses, nervously raking his fingers through his hair. The kid nods, frowning up at the general. Kanda finds himself nodding, feeling tired and sluggish now that the adrenaline high is wearing off.

The general takes a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his lips. “I am General Cross Marian. I’m an exorcist. And soon, you will be too.”


End file.
